I am on a taxi that will take me from Nkowankowa to Tzaneen, a roughly 30 minute journey. This taxi is the old model that seats 15 people. The South African government is trying to phase out these older, taxis as part of their 2010 World Cup preparations. The driver had been going slowly until he filled the taxi to its limit. Now that we are full and on an open stretch of road, the taxi’s already over-taxed engine is being coaxed into ever greater speeds. Taxi drivers are notorious for driving fast, and it’s because they have to drive fast if they want to turn a profit. Even with that understanding in mind, every so often I find myself at the mercy of a driver bent on putting the fear of God into his passengers for no discernable, logical reason. It is exactly this situation that I find myself in now.
As the whine of the engine grows louder, and the blurred landscape accelerates, I make a furtive glance at the speedometer. It reads zero, as do all of the various meters and gauges located behind the steering wheel. On one level, this ought to put me at ease. If the speedometer reads zero, that means I am not plummeting down a hill while the driver dodges oncoming traffic and farm animals. The reason he is dodging oncoming traffic is because R36 is a two lane road which frequently becomes an unofficial four lane. The farm animals are from the villages that line the road.
As we crest a hill and begin our final descent into Tzaneen, I have decided to close my eyes. I am closing my eyes because I don’t want the driver to see the look of horror on my face at everything he does. While I have blocked out visual stimuli, there is nothing I can do to avoid the toe-curling G-forces that move me this way and that.
The taxi suddenly slows down; jolting all the passengers forward in their seats. My eyes snap open and I see the tail end of another taxi, mere inches away from our front bumper. He is passing all other vehicles, just like us, but at not quite as high a speed as our driver would like. The rest of the trip was spent hurtling up and down massive hills, horrifyingly close to the taxi ahead of us, which refused to let my driver pass. When we finally pulled up to the petrol station in Tzaneen where we are dropped off, the drivers glared at one another and exchanged a few terse words. Clearly, there is some back story to all this that I will never know.
Question: What do Kentucky Fried Chicken, Curves, The Roman Catholic Church and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints all have in common? Answer: They are all institutions which have a presence both in Tzaneen, South Africa and Des Moines, Iowa, USA. The KFC is very popular here in Tzaneen; the only complaint that I’ve heard is that they don’t sell any pap. I have eaten at KFC infinitely more than I thought I would have before I came, which is to say I’ve eaten their twice. When I was conducting a survey for the Dept. of Water Affairs, people in the Lenyenye township often thought I was with “that church” since that was the last context in which a white person visited their home. “That church” turned out to be direct Des Moines connection #4, the Mormons. I tried to get in to one of their newly built churches in Lenyenye, but found it to be all locked up. I found another Mormon church in Tzaneen proper, but it was also gated and locked. I’ll try back later in my never-ending search for other Americans.
I have finished the project I was working on for the Dept. of Water Affairs. In the end, about 15% of the households we surveyed had leaks. Since South Africa is considered an “arid” country, water is an increasingly hot commodity. As with most infrastructures in South Africa, it was built to keep only the white population living at first world standards. Once Apartheid ended, millions of new people flooded a system built to accommodate only a fraction of the total population. This is true of roads and electricity, both of which are under increasing strain as new users are added. This is also becoming true with water as well. As water use increases and running water is gradually spreading to areas that previously had none, South Africa is heading towards a water deficit in the near (roughly 10 years) future. Therefore, water leaks ought to be a high priority issue for the government to tackle, lest South Africa’s water table disappears down the drain. Or at least that’s the point I tried to make in my report to DWAF.
So with that project done, I am to be turning my attention towards two new water reticulation projects Tsogang is currently working on. I’m not exactly sure where I’ll fit in, but I’m sure to find out eventually. I’m also working on a large stack of training manuals that have fallen into disrepair. This is rather dry work to do, but I understand its necessity, so I am able to keep motivated.
I’ve spent the majority of my mornings training for the Long Tom Marathon, which is a 56 kilometre race which I will be running on the 28th of March. Running provides me a golden opportunity to explore Tzaneen and, inadvertently, meet people. One morning I found myself utterly lost at a T-intersection surrounded on all sides by banana trees. I found a guy standing by the side of the road hitch-hiking and asked him which way I need to take to get back to Tzaneen. His response was “Are you running?” I said yes and told me he’d just run back to Tzaneen with me. He was dressed in dress shoes, a nice pair of jeans and thick woollen sweater. Despite his attire I quickly realized that he wanted to run much faster than I did.
After about 20 minutes I am dyeing. I look at him in wonderment. He is not sweating, or showing any visible signs of fatigue. “Gee,” I say between ever deeper breaths, “You sure do run fast.”
He beams at me and explains, simply, “I am a Makgoba.”
The Makgoba clan is a well known one in these parts, chiefly for families’ most famous member: King Makgoba. In the mid 1890s, white settlers began to push into the Tzaneen area in ever greater numbers. King Makgoba defended his land and people from the invaders in what became known as the Makgobaskloof Wars, but was eventually killed and beheaded by Swazi mercenaries at the behest of the Boer commander General Joubert. Makgoba’s subjects were forced to leave their land or stay on as paying “tenants”. So, it is this defiant, warrior spirit that propelled my running partner into town, dragging me behind him. It turns out he was late for class and decided to make a run for it instead of waiting for a ride.
If I hadn’t been so tired I would have asked him about the recent land claims made by the Makgoba clan. The Land Claims process is meant to address past injustices, like the Makgobaskloof War where the Mahgobas were thrown off of their ancestral land. While on the face of it, this seems like a good policy, there has been some grumbling. Part of the Makgoba land claims includes a tea farm which is a major employer in the area. I’ve spoken with a few different people who are concerned that once the land passes from its current owner to the Makgobas, and all of the farm equipment is sold, the jobs will disappear. The right path forward is unclear to me.
